Ford AloneMostly
by dstorey
Summary: threw out the multiverse, there are many Stanford Pines, that live many different lives, most of them fall threw the portal, not all of them make it home. This Stanford Pines wonders the multiverse till one day he finds himself held captive by an auctioneer who plans to sell Ford to the highest bider. will Ford escape or will he have to accept help form a mysterious entity.
1. Prologue

p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: medium; font-family: Calibri;"The market was filled with noise, color, and mouth watering smells, for once Ford had honest money to spend and not a wanted posting in sight. He was new to this dimension and he thrilled at all the new sights and sounds, for a moment his guard drops and he is absorbed in his observations. He studies the stalls their contents, the nature of the venders, he watches the exchanges between venders and customers, the delicate social interaction of haggling and payment exchange. He took note of everything memorizing every detail, the way the natives' secondary hands would clasp and nod at the conclusion of negotiations, how the antennae of the venders would twitch and turn as they studied the crowed for potential customers. Ford noted the subtle coloring of the natives faces how the vibrant colors would pulsate with the same energy of the individual's gestures. Ford himself only drew a little attention he is not the only non-native in the market, he is still drastically outnumbered by the native peoples of the dimension they swarm around him in a swirl of vibrant colors and chirping clicks of their language. Nearby a fryer releasing a hissing cloud of steam filled with tang of seasonings and cooking meat. The smell reminds Ford why he has ventured out into this crowded market, his stomach growls loudly. Flames flair in the cooking fire of another food vender vegetables and meat sent flying into the air only to be caught skillfully in the pan once again, a testament to the vender's skill and confidence. Ford watches knowing that the movement repeated, over and over again is not just an act of showmanship but an important part of the cooking process. The tossing motion prevents food from resting to long on the hot pan, this allows the vender to run his fire hotter and cook the food faster. Ford digs a handful of coins from his pocket and purchases some of the hot steaming food, the vender wraps the mess in an edible wrapper with practiced efficiency and hands over the food. Turning back into the crowed he considers the brightly clad natives realizing that his own dark clothes makes him stand out in this dimension so filled with vibrant colors. The magenta sun makes normally subdued colors shine and pop, lost in contemplation he pulls down the scarf covering his face and takes a bite of his meal. He pauses at a fruit stand and considers the produce, noting the vibrant colors, he takes another bite lost in his contemplations and half formed hypothesis. Taking into the consideration the dramatic coloring of the plant life of this dimension it is possible that the bright colors are more effective camouflaged than the more reserved greens and browns Ford favors. He spares a glance to the sun, in what way dose this sun differ from his own, that so many colors would be produced from the process of photosynthesis? Or is he making an assumption, perhaps he diversity and vibrancy of colors has nothing to do with the strange star but in the soil content? He glances down and digs a tow into the soil contemplative, soil content affects flower coloring back home, perhaps it's like that, or maybe it's a combination? He steps out of the main stream and kneels scooping up a small sample, he straightens shifting the dirt over his fingers feeling it noting the colors and textures, the dampness. He takes another bite of his food, automatically not really paying attention anymore, samples he should collect samples from different locations. He begins walking again, the market soil would be a poor sample, to many foreign influences, the constant foot traffic making the ground to hard and hostile for plant life. He continues to chew forgetting he had already swallowed his last bite of food the remainder of his meal clutched in his hand nearly forgotten. Where could he find suitable samples, dose he have what he needs to improvise a microscope? /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: medium; font-family: Calibri;" His hood is yanked back off his head, a massive hand clamps down on his shoulder and Ford is yanked back to the present. His head jerks up, the remainder of his food and the handful of dirt tumble out of his grasp. The grip on his shoulder is like iron, everything seems to shift into slow motion. He is being pulled back into an empty ally, a massive arm is being wrapped around his neck, words are being growled at him but he doesn't understand them. He doesn't need to understand, he acts, Ford takes a large step back unbalancing his attacker at the same time his arm comes up breaking the chock hold, and then he's turning, twisting out of the iron grip. Ford is even deeper in the alley further away from a quick escape but he is out of his attackers reach and that's a step in the right direction. His hand sweeps back his jacket and draws his gun his mouth set in a grim smile "not today" it's a simple declaration he makes as he aims his gun his trigger finger tensing./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: medium; font-family: Calibri;" Something slams into his gun hand and his shot goes off into the sky harmless. Ford reacts side stepping a second assailant only to be tackled by the first one. He slides backward struggling to keep his feet under him as he's slammed into the alley wall and his gun is sent skidding across the ground, a fist drives itself into Fords stomach. Ford clasps his hands together and drives them hard against the bounty hunters back, and then the second hunter is on him. Ford twists pulling one of his attackers with him twisting the being around as he uses the bulky figure as a shield. His gun is in the dirt not far away, he's out numbered all these two bounty hunters need to do is stop him from getting away and wear him down. The weapon in the dirt just out of reach is what Ford focuses on as he wrestles to break free, that gun was his equalizer. With a heave, Ford throws his shield into the other hunter and dives for his gun. He slides in the dirt his hand fumbling with the weapons grip, behind him the two being struggle and fumble to come after him. Ford can feel them looming over him as he grips the gun he rolls and fires. The two figures fall, Ford pants there in the dirt but a distant shout bring him out of his daze, these two might not be alone. More goons could be on their way, he scrambles to his feet and runs for the alley entrance. The bright colors and friendly chatter of the min thoroughfare beckon to him promising safety and a quick getaway lost in a dense crowed. Even as his heart races with exhilaration he lets out a sigh of relief his run settling into a steady rhythm as he picked up speed./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: medium; font-family: Calibri;" The market was right there, the bright happy colors a sharp contrast to the sudden violence Ford was fleeing from. All thoughts of soil samples and scientific exploration are long forgotten as plans to get out of this dimension take priority. The thought saddens Ford, he liked this dimension the people were kind and the world was beautiful but he couldn't afford to stay could risk capture. Pain, fire works go off in Fords skull as hespan lang="X-NONE"collide/spans with something as solid as a wall. Stunned Ford falls to the ground, he can taste blood, his glasses are lost washing the world around him into blurry abstracts, his eyes watering his brain screaming in pain he squints. He can almost make out a slight haze in the air before him weakly reaches hand and feels the solid surface it hums slightly with a pulsating warmth. Unconsciousness was slowly claiming Ford his brain sluggishly trying to make sense of running into a wall that he can't see. Large figures toward over Ford he tried to rise, tried to put up a resistance as hands grabbed him. Weakly he tries to get his feet under himself, but he only manages to trace zigzags in the ground as he's dragged away. Darkness descends as Ford loses his fight to unconsciousness, he's barely aware of the chilling sensation as a stasis pod closes around him and activates./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: medium; font-family: Calibri;" /p 


	2. Chapter 1: in trouble again

p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: medium; font-family: Calibri;"The market was filled with noise, color, and mouth watering smells, for once Ford had honest money to spend and not a wanted posting in sight. He was new to this dimension and he thrilled at all the new sights and sounds, for a moment his guard drops and he is absorbed in his observations. He studies the stalls their contents, the nature of the venders, he watches the exchanges between venders and customers, the delicate social interaction of haggling and payment exchange. He took note of everything memorizing every detail, the way the natives' secondary hands would clasp and nod at the conclusion of negotiations, how the antennae of the venders would twitch and turn as they studied the crowed for potential customers. Ford noted the subtle coloring of the natives faces how the vibrant colors would pulsate with the same energy of the individual's gestures. Ford himself only drew a little attention he is not the only non-native in the market, he is still drastically outnumbered by the native peoples of the dimension they swarm around him in a swirl of vibrant colors and chirping clicks of their language. Nearby a fryer releasing a hissing cloud of steam filled with tang of seasonings and cooking meat. The smell reminds Ford why he has ventured out into this crowded market, his stomach growls loudly. Flames flair in the cooking fire of another food vender vegetables and meat sent flying into the air only to be caught skillfully in the pan once again, a testament to the vender's skill and confidence. Ford watches knowing that the movement repeated, over and over again is not just an act of showmanship but an important part of the cooking process. The tossing motion prevents food from resting to long on the hot pan, this allows the vender to run his fire hotter and cook the food faster. Ford digs a handful of coins from his pocket and purchases some of the hot steaming food, the vender wraps the mess in an edible wrapper with practiced efficiency and hands over the food. Turning back into the crowed he considers the brightly clad natives realizing that his own dark clothes makes him stand out in this dimension so filled with vibrant colors. The magenta sun makes normally subdued colors shine and pop, lost in contemplation he pulls down the scarf covering his face and takes a bite of his meal. He pauses at a fruit stand and considers the produce, noting the vibrant colors, he takes another bite lost in his contemplations and half formed hypothesis. Taking into the consideration the dramatic coloring of the plant life of this dimension it is possible that the bright colors are more effective camouflaged than the more reserved greens and browns Ford favors. He spares a glance to the sun, in what way dose this sun differ from his own, that so many colors would be produced from the process of photosynthesis? Or is he making an assumption, perhaps he diversity and vibrancy of colors has nothing to do with the strange star but in the soil content? He glances down and digs a tow into the soil contemplative, soil content affects flower coloring back home, perhaps it's like that, or maybe it's a combination? He steps out of the main stream and kneels scooping up a small sample, he straightens shifting the dirt over his fingers feeling it noting the colors and textures, the dampness. He takes another bite of his food, automatically not really paying attention anymore, samples he should collect samples from different locations. He begins walking again, the market soil would be a poor sample, to many foreign influences, the constant foot traffic making the ground to hard and hostile for plant life. He continues to chew forgetting he had already swallowed his last bite of food the remainder of his meal clutched in his hand nearly forgotten. Where could he find suitable samples, dose he have what he needs to improvise a microscope? /p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: medium; font-family: Calibri;" His hood is yanked back off his head, a massive hand clamps down on his shoulder and Ford is yanked back to the present. His head jerks up, the remainder of his food and the handful of dirt tumble out of his grasp. The grip on his shoulder is like iron, everything seems to shift into slow motion. He is being pulled back into an empty ally, a massive arm is being wrapped around his neck, words are being growled at him but he doesn't understand them. He doesn't need to understand, he acts, Ford takes a large step back unbalancing his attacker at the same time his arm comes up breaking the chock hold, and then he's turning, twisting out of the iron grip. Ford is even deeper in the alley further away from a quick escape but he is out of his attackers reach and that's a step in the right direction. His hand sweeps back his jacket and draws his gun his mouth set in a grim smile "not today" it's a simple declaration he makes as he aims his gun his trigger finger tensing./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: medium; font-family: Calibri;" Something slams into his gun hand and his shot goes off into the sky harmless. Ford reacts side stepping a second assailant only to be tackled by the first one. He slides backward struggling to keep his feet under him as he's slammed into the alley wall and his gun is sent skidding across the ground, a fist drives itself into Fords stomach. Ford clasps his hands together and drives them hard against the bounty hunters back, and then the second hunter is on him. Ford twists pulling one of his attackers with him twisting the being around as he uses the bulky figure as a shield. His gun is in the dirt not far away, he's out numbered all these two bounty hunters need to do is stop him from getting away and wear him down. The weapon in the dirt just out of reach is what Ford focuses on as he wrestles to break free, that gun was his equalizer. With a heave, Ford throws his shield into the other hunter and dives for his gun. He slides in the dirt his hand fumbling with the weapons grip, behind him the two being struggle and fumble to come after him. Ford can feel them looming over him as he grips the gun he rolls and fires. The two figures fall, Ford pants there in the dirt but a distant shout bring him out of his daze, these two might not be alone. More goons could be on their way, he scrambles to his feet and runs for the alley entrance. The bright colors and friendly chatter of the min thoroughfare beckon to him promising safety and a quick getaway lost in a dense crowed. Even as his heart races with exhilaration he lets out a sigh of relief his run settling into a steady rhythm as he picked up speed./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: medium; font-family: Calibri;" The market was right there, the bright happy colors a sharp contrast to the sudden violence Ford was fleeing from. All thoughts of soil samples and scientific exploration are long forgotten as plans to get out of this dimension take priority. The thought saddens Ford, he liked this dimension the people were kind and the world was beautiful but he couldn't afford to stay could risk capture. Pain, fire works go off in Fords skull as hespan lang="X-NONE"collide/spans with something as solid as a wall. Stunned Ford falls to the ground, he can taste blood, his glasses are lost washing the world around him into blurry abstracts, his eyes watering his brain screaming in pain he squints. He can almost make out a slight haze in the air before him weakly reaches hand and feels the solid surface it hums slightly with a pulsating warmth. Unconsciousness was slowly claiming Ford his brain sluggishly trying to make sense of running into a wall that he can't see. Large figures toward over Ford he tried to rise, tried to put up a resistance as hands grabbed him. Weakly he tries to get his feet under himself, but he only manages to trace zigzags in the ground as he's dragged away. Darkness descends as Ford loses his fight to unconsciousness, he's barely aware of the chilling sensation as a stasis pod closes around him and activates./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: medium; font-family: Calibri;" /p 


	3. Chapter2:outofthefryingpan

p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: medium; font-family: Calibri;"Ford wakes feeling rested and this leaves him feeling uneasy, he doesn't know what to make of the green eyes. The extra dimensional entity seemed to be the antithesis of Bill, where Bill would torment and seek to rouse him from sleep to do as he bid the green eyes would simply leave, allowing him to rest. His interaction with Bill in retrospect had been blatant bids to appeal to Ford vanity and exploit his insecurities, the green eyes seemed to speak plainly and would in comparison accept Fords refusal. It must be a tactic a play of some kind the green eyes wanted something, they were hiding something. Ford rubs his face, shaking off the fog of sleep, he doesn't know what to make of the green eyes but he doesn't trust them, extra dimensional being are not to be trusted. he doesn't know how the green eyes gained access to his mindscape, he doesn't know what they want, but he does know they want something. He keeps his eyes closed and listens the guard clanks past and as soon as his steeps begin to fade down the walk way he springs into action, alert his movements sure and decisive. First, he removes his restraints with a practiced ease a small twinge of pride at how easy it has become, he runs his hands over the wall beside the force field his fingers lightly dusting over the surface looking for the seam he knows is there. When he finds, it he jams the opened cuff into the small crake using it like a pry-bar to work the panel open. He chews his lip reaching inside he grasps blindly at the wiring inside and yanks, the forcefield die's and Ford is free to leave. He moves swiftly and silently moving in the same direction the guard went, he steps lightly along the walk way moving past cells ignoring startled glances and shouts. He ties to calculate how much time has left before his cell is discovered empty, he doesn't have much time. he glances out over the railing to the drop below. Glowing forcefields lit the space with their eerie glow he can't see the bottom. He twists looking upward to a distant ceiling, he needed to go up, it's always up in places like this, Ford didn't like that. He needed an elevator, or stairs, an elevator was a dead end, a new space to cage him in, but if he went with the stairs he would be breathless and fatigued after only a few flights. He ducks I into an alcove holding his breath as a guard passes, his heart matching the steady clomp of the droid's steps. An alarm rings in the back of his head, the droid should have noticed him, the hair on the back of his neck stands on end he feels someone watching him. He keeps moving, he's going to run out of time he can't afford to indulge in the paranoia. A soft bell dings, Ford flinches and hides turning in a crouched stance ready to fight or flee. A small elevator door slides open spilling a warm golden light into cold eerie glow of the prison block. the elevator is small a simple span lang="X-NONE"Maintenance/spanelevator, the analytical part of Ford's brain notes that the soft ding is the same as the elevators back home, and the same of every elevator he had encountered sense. He slides inside cspan lang="X-NONE"autious/spanstudying the small space his posture tense, the door slide closed making a load clunk as they seal, Ford flinches. The elevator doesn't move, he's trapped locked in, Ford's heart begins to race, his eyes dart around the small space, he's panicking. Taking a steady breath Ford closes his eyes "stay calm work the problem" Ford climbs the hand bar and pushes open the ceiling access and climbs out. The elevator shaft is dark and smells sharply of mechanical grease and span lang="X-NONE" stale/spanrubber. He can see the access ladder that runs up the shaft, he begins to climb. It's not a perfect solution, the climb ahead of him is going to be long, but the elevator shaft isn't as exposed as a stairwell and less confining than the elevator it's self. The climb is long and hard Ford focuses on placing his hands and feet one rung at a time, not letting himself rush and flair draining himself of much needed energy. Gradually his mind begins to drift, what was the green eyes game, for the past two years they had pestered him. Every time he got in trouble, every time he was a little to close to danger those glowing green pests would make an appearance. Every-time it was the same, an observation about his situation, a urgent warning, and then an offer of aid. Ford didn't trust them, they were hiding something, they were after something. As much as Ford distrusted the extra dimensional being, as much as he wanted to distrust it, something in him couldn't bring himself to banish the being from his mind. He knows he can, the green eyes hadn't been invited, so Ford is free to banish them whenever he chooses. But the eyes kept reminding him of his brother, it wasn't obvious, the being was sudel in the manipulation, it was in the cadences, the way of speaking the snorts and grumbles. Ford knows it's a ploy, a way for the entity to get past his guard, but as much as he hates the being for using his brother in such a way, he can't send it away because it would be to much like sending his brother away all over again. He pauses his breath heavy sweat beading on his forehead, he leans into the ladder pulling himself in and resting. He looks up trying to gage how much further he needs to go, how much further he can go. He takes a deep breath, he needs to keep going he can't give up. He spots an access door and taking a deep steady breath he sets off again, one rung at a time. He pushes at the access door breathing a sigh of relief as it swings inward and he climbs in bracing against the wall in the small closet like space. He leans over bracing against his knees taking deep steadying breaths, he tries to calm his heart and listen for anything outside of the small dark space he's found himself in. he lets out a long deep breath, he just needs to rest, to catch his breath, then he can continue the climb. he just needs a minute then he can keep moving./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: medium; font-family: Calibri;"the door is yanked open and light floods the small room blinding Ford, he flinches rising his hands to shield his eyes. A large hand grabs him by the front of his shirt and he is yanked forward into the blinding light. briefly dazed Fords blinks, he feels the ruff hands, he twists moving to step behind the source of the grasping hands he strikes out with his elbow. He's been pulled into a hall filled with massive muscular goons that tower over him. they glower down at him and he strikes. Punching jabbing ducking and twisting, he uses their number against them using turning and ducking to use the different men as shields from each other till the lot of them are tripping and stumbling over each other in a hopeless tangled mass. Breathing hard Ford can feel himself fading, he's already fatigued from the climb and there are to many goons for him to have a hope of overpowering them. He makes a dive for the door back to the elevator shaft beyond. It wasn't safer but perhaps he would be able to force the men into a funnel so he was only have to fend off one at a time. He was already calculating, even fighting one at a time he wold be greatly encumbered, his progress threw this facility, it would cost him time time he didn't have. He needs to find the exit, he can't continue blindly running around, Maybe if he managed to take the leader hostage./p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: medium; font-family: Calibri;" a hand wrapped around his extend arm, he's still in the hallway exposed and out numbered. emFocus/em, Ford scolds himself he grasps the hand with his free hand and uses the strong limb to swing himself around and into a kick that landed in his attackers face. The behemoth goes down but his grips remains strong. Ford claws at the first clinched around his arm but more of the goons are descending on him, he's anchored, he can't move, he strikes out blindly punching gouging and scratch. They give up trying to grab him and grasping clawing hands are replaced with fists. Ford stubbornly stays on his feet as blow after blow knocks the wind out of him. He goes down on one knee, Blood begins pouring down his face as his nose is flattened for a second time, his vision turns red as another blow catches him in the eye. A fist collides with his temple, his head crakes to the side, fireworks go off behind his eyes and he crumples darkness swallowing his consciousness./p  
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End file.
